*******trigger warning – ritual abuse and confinement *******
My abusers used to lock me in a large plywood box for long periods of time. I have no idea why other than to freak me out. My memories of this are sketchy, but I definitely have flashes of being locked in the box alone and then sometimes with objects to freak me out, such as with a Russian nesting doll.
I have flashes of lying still and hearing every single noise. Of course, it was dark in the box, so my hearing was my strongest sense. I would hear every little noise, including the sound of my own breathing, which sounded incredibly loud. I could also hear/feel my heart beating so fast.
S & L (my most sadistic abusers) gave my sister and me one of these boxes as a “gift” to use as a toy box in our basement. My parents thought it was a splendid idea. We could fit a bunch of our toys in the box, including two child-sized chairs. The plywood box had a latch on it that could have locked us in, even without a lock being used. I cannot fathom parents believing such a box was child-friendly, but my parents were hardly clued into what was safe or unsafe for their children.
To this day, I must have white noise going at all times (air purifier, fan, music, etc.), or I feel like I am going to lose my mind. I find it very triggering to be in an environment of complete silence other than the simple noises I might make by a slight shift of my body.
I am also claustrophobic. I have a hard time climbing in the “tubes” at a play land, so I was thrilled when my son became old enough to navigate play land tubes by himself.
Photo credit: Hekatekris
[…] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Faith Allen, Pandora. Pandora said: Heart-wrenching but very brave post. RT @FaithLotus Faith Allen’s Story – Locked in a Box http://bit.ly/d5RBiu […]
Reading this makes me hyperventilate. I am clausterphobic also. I’m so sorry Faith. I am in awe of your strength. Absolutely in AWE.
Breathing deeply….
Peace,
mia
Hi Faith,
I just wanted to tell you i have been listening. Just being quiet…. but I want you to know I think you are more than extraordinary and beautiful, you and your sister, to have survived the torture you experienced. I cannot think of a good reason as to why any precious life would be left to endure such insurmountable pain. I do know however, that had I not ‘met you’ in one of my near frantic internet searches to understand my own pain, that I would not have been able to endure. And my t, who is also an incredible source of comfort and strength. I would give up our connection, in less than a fraction of a second however, if it meant you and your sister were given the childhood you should have had, with the love, safety and nurturing you should have had.
Only the best wishes for you ((((Faith)))). And ((((Mia)))) thinking of you too.
Always,
palucci
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Faith-
thank you for writing this! i really can’t begin to tell you how grateful i am (we are??… 1st person pronouns are easier for now…) for your courage, immense strength and willingness to give voice to everything they tried to silence; including the aspects of abuse that often are unknown or unspoken because they are so difficult, terrifying, laden with shame etc.
so many times when i am seeking knowledge/ answers about memories, or what i am experiencing now- things i can barely type to a relatively anonymous internet server in the privacy of my apartment, much less speak or write about to anyone in real time- even my amazing therapist- your blog comes up as one of the very first search results. and i come here and start reading, and find a safe place that expresses and explains when i was so afraid that no one could, or would. or that i was just crazy, or whatever. i am finding it difficult to truly articulate what it means to me, but i must thank you again for your bravery.
specifically to this post, thank you for your bravery in writing about your experience of being locked inside the box. i recently started having flashbacks to something very similar. i don’t remember what exactly the box looked like, or what they were trying to do (other than freak me out), there’s still pieces missing, but i am beginning to remember how it felt. even physically. like my chest hurts a lot and i feel like i can’t breathe/ extreme claustrophobia, panic, etc. i guess in some ways the emotions and physical sensations and fears etc have been surfacing much longer, but only recently connected to that specific memory.
it is very interesting to me, that you write of your NEED for white noise of some kind, at all times. i’ve been that way too, all my life (though when it’s noise i’m not in control of- like in a crowd, or people being too loud, or certain music/ sounds etc than i freak out in a different way). fortunately, i live alone, so having a television or stereo going 24/7 isn’t disturbing someone else’s sleep 😛 but as long as i can remember, i’ve desperately needed something going, playing, making noise, SOMETHING there to block out the silence.
as i became more aware of it, i assumed it was just not wanting to be alone with my thoughts (or memories), or maybe trying to negate the hypervigillance of my good friend PTSD that makes your heart jump with seemingly every ambient noise you hear. and i still thing those things are relevant for me. however, reading your post really clicked with me. i hadn’t quite put that together- the awful deafening silence from the box- where all you can hear is the amplified sound of your own movements, breathing, heart etc- with the strongly ingrained desire to avoid silence at all costs. but now, it makes perfect sense! thank you! i’m not sure i would have put those two things together myself. at least not any time soon. and i am, as always, grateful for anything that increases my understanding. 🙂
thank you!
-jadedstar
Hi, Jadedstar.
Thanks for your comment. I relate so much to what you wrote. You feel like a kindred spirit in a really awful memory. I am glad that my blog is helping you.
– Faith
my uncle used to lock me in closets. i used to and sometimes till have nightmares of being locked in the closet or in “his” room. His room in my nightmares are always dark, green and shadowy. I used to tell people I had a hearing problem because my sister punctured my eardrum, but I think some of my hearing problem is that my hearing is quite sensitive. I find noise to be very annoying lots of times. I tie it in with being locked in the closet. I was three or four or maybe a little younger when this was happening. I don’t know why I can’t stop reading your story.
Hi Faith,
I cannot go on, as I am too triggered reading this. I cried a few pages ago. My abusers have children, and I have begun being blunt and honest, which is a huuuuge no-no. Do you ever feel rage?? My abuse seems like nothing compared to this, but I know how it feels. I know how it feels to kill yourself inside. I know how it feels to have teachers accuse you of being immature and angry for mistakes, when you try so hard to be perfect. I know how it feels to have severe ‘stress headaches’ and suddenly recalled the most f-ed up scenes, and wonder if you are crazy. And being honest just gets you called crazy. All the best to you, thank you for your honest TRUTH, how hard it is for everyone, it seems. Here is some validation of the highest order my dear!! And to your sister.
Hi, Daisy_May.
I hope you are taking gentle care of yourself. I used to have rage, but I have processed most of it. That was actually a “fun” emotion to process because it was empowering. Rage was the emotion I dissociated the deepest, so learning what to do with it when it came was a challenge at first. Because I had instructions (through my therapist and through self-help books) on how to process rage, that was an “easier” emotion for me to work through. I’ll take it any day over despair. :0)
~ Faith
Hi Faith,
I ran across your blog when I Goggled “Where’s God in child abuse.” I started reading your story. . . Back in the early ninety’s I started therapy and started bringing up all these painful, painful memories. I was told that these memories
were Satanic/Ritual abuse. I journaled a lot of it. All the anger, the hate and the shame. I also came to a place where I put this stuff aside and felt I could go on with life. As the years passed I often wondered if all that I’d written was true or if I just made it up based off of what I was hearing in my group therapy sessions. I know that I was abused sexually, physically and mentally but it has been hard for me to believe all that I wrote about. Somewhere along the way, I decided I didn’t have to find out if it was all true. Just had to believe there was abuse and move on from there. . . And I have been moving on with my life with the grace and mercy of God.
In 2009, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I feared that if I died my husband and grown daughters might read these journals. I destroyed all of them, even the good stuff I’d written about my daughters as they were growing up. Sometimes I wish I had not gotten rid of everything.
One memory stands out. One I don’t want to forget. It’s where I was being abused and I left my body and was sitting on the roof of this building (a bakery that was down the street from my house. I was being abused in one of the adjacent buildings.) I am not going to go into details. Jesus came and held me in his arms. He covered my face and gently caressed my hair and told me he would help me through it.
Well my thoughts seem to be all over the place right now. I just wanted to thank you for your courage to share your story. I pray that you are healing and being restored. A song that I have always held onto is the song “Ask Me” by Amy Grant. I will warn that it too can be a trigger for sexual and physical abuse.